


Two Many Horses

by willowoak_walker



Series: The Sentinel Jobs [3]
Category: Leverage, The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Gen, Horses, This will update slowly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:11:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4841936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowoak_walker/pseuds/willowoak_walker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot's old friend's stable burned down, killing nine horses. The Leverage team is on the job, but, unfortunately, so is an old friend of Nate's ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood For Money

Eliot grabs the remote out of Hardison’s hand and changes the channel back.

“Dude,” Hardison says, sending a careful empathic probe out toward Eliot, “Why do you want to watch that, that shit’s depressing.”

“I know them,” Eliot says, “The owners.”

“Oh,” Hardison says, and thinks know is a little mild for the agony Eliot’s feeling. “You want me to send them something to help them get back on their feet?”

“I’ll do it myself,” Eliot snarls. He stands up, dropping the remote into Hardison’s lap. “Just get me their phone number,” he calls over his shoulder, “And tell Nate I’m in Kentucky.”

_Touchy, touchy_. Hardison raises his eyebrows and sets his programs in motion. _Do this, do that, not one word of —_

“Thanks,” Eliot adds, rather more moderately, on his way out. “And thanks for the offer.”

Hardison calls, “You’re welcome,” to the closing door. He sends Nate an update, and wonders absently how Eliot’s planning to get to Kentucky. He opens another tab and looks up the airports.

***

Willie’s aching. Eliot’s upset, himself. You don’t get over horses, not if you worked with them the way Eliot did those long summers in high school. And nine in one fire — that’s a horror, not a business loss.

Willie’s trying to explain to Nate, who doesn’t get it. _Of course_ Willie didn’t own the horses.

“That’s not how it works,” Eliot cuts in, “Trainers raise the horses, they break ‘em, they race ‘em, but they don’t own them. It’s a rich man’s game.” An unfair one, that eats hearts the way rich men’s games always do.

“I always dreamed of owning my own horses,” Willie says, and goes on to explain how this Wall Street man Foss capitalized on that dream. “And when the horses aren’t running to Foss’s liking-” Willie’s pain is driving Eliot’s fury, and Nate is still _not getting it._

“He burned nine horses, Nate,” Eliot says, and tries to convey the meaning, the grief, in that with the set of his face, “Nine of ‘em, to get back his investment.” Blood for money, that trade. Eliot’s made it, Eliot’s been the kind of person who would make it.

It’s damn hard to turn back.

“And he’s running around blaming me for the fire,” Willie says. Foss isn’t stopping with horse blood. “No one will ever hire me again, I’m uninsurable.”

Nate offers him money, and looks back at Eliot when Willie refuses, as if Eliot ought to tell him what Willie wants. Willie’s a good man; Eliot has no idea what he wants.

“I want Foss’s surviving horse,” Willie tells them, “Baltimore. I’ll take good care of him. And I want that _bastard_ Foss to never work in the horse business again.”

And when it’s laid out for him like that, Nate can understand.

***

It’s been a while since Parker was in Kentucky. There aren’t usually interesting things to steal there. Though she _had_ stolen some very nice glasswork from the Museum of Art and Craft when it moved to the new building. It hadn’t been particularly difficult.

“Why are we going to Kentucky?” Parker whispers to Hardison on the plane, stealing his peanuts. “What’s in Kentucky?”

“I dunno yet,” Hardison admits. He shrugs and grimaces. “Nate said he’d send me something telling me what to study, but this wifi will barely load my email.” He looks over at her. He’s making a tense face, like Archie when his wife is mad at him.

“What’s the matter?” Parker asks. That’s the right question, as far as she can tell.

“Eliot’s real upset,” Hardison says, “I think he’s related to our victims.”

“He’s mad at you?” That’s confusing. Well, Eliot is usually mad at Hardison, but not like that. Not the kind of mad that matters.

“Huh?” Hardison says, “No, he’s angry at this Foss guy that did it. Why would he be mad at me?”

Parker shrugs. “You made a face,” she explains, and eats his peanuts. Hardison’s staring at her, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed that he’s missing his peanuts. Normal people.

Parker will never understand them.


	2. I Once Saw A Horse Kill A Clown

“Alan Foss,” Hardison says, throwing pictures of the mark up on the big TV screen in the hotel room. Alan Foss looks like the kind of guy who goes for what he wants and doesn’t care who he hurts getting it. Eliot knows the type. “Hedge Fund manager for Smith and Marken in New York,” Hardison goes on, “He made 40 million in the last two years, and picked up some pretty high-cost, high-profile hobbies.” Rich boy playing with his rich-boy toys. “Started with high-stakes poker, and, now, owning race horses.” Eliot’s internal rant about race-horse gamblers is cut off by Parker sticking her hand in the air like they’re all in the fourth grade and she’s got to go to the bathroom.

“I think I have a fever, can I be excused from this one?” Parker says. Eliot hasn’t heard anything so ridiculous in a long damn time - but she’s scared. Hardison looks at the screen as if the latest pictures of asshole might explain the way her aura’s pulling in. Eliot ignores Sophie pretending to fall for Parker’s blatant lies and Nate’s intervention in favor of shifting his weight to make it easier to come out of his chair and move. He’s pretty sure Parker will catch that.

She’s really good at reading threats.

***

“I once saw a horse kill a clown,” Parker says, and Hardison files that away with her taking not being paid personal. Nate and Sophie blink at each other in puzzlement. Eliot seems to find nothing strange about a horse killing a clown, but then, he doesn’t show much affectual variation when he’s in his guard mode. “I just really don’t like horses,” Parker says, relaxing out of her memories. And _now_ Eliot catches on that that’s a strange reason to be scared of horses, now that Parker feels safe - well, as safe as she ever does - again. Hardison’s actually getting to like that guy.

But what Hardison would like even better is to be allowed to finish his speech. He waves at the rest of the crew in irritation, and Nate gestures him on.

“Six months ago,” Hardison starts, pulling the pictures of the horses onto the screen. He has a moment of worry at that one, but Parker doesn’t startle. Okay. “Foss put a bunch of money into buying all the horses from Willie’s stable. After the fire -“

“Massacre,” Eliot interrupts him, and he’s doing that thing where his surface is cool as a cucumber but it hurts to hear him. Hardison stutters a ‘What?’. The last time Eliot did that was with all those veterans with no money for medicine. “The massacre,” Eliot says again.

“Ooh,” Sophie says, “You are a bit hot on this one.”

“Oh,” Hardison says, “Okay, hot. Yes.” _Hot_ is not the word for this, Eliot does not do _hot_ , he might go as far as mildly warm on occasion, but that is a _cold_ fury. Hardison cannot stand the tension in this room. “E-everybody, you wanna take over these briefings? Okay?” Now he thinks of it Hardison is actually mad about that. “I go to a lot of trouble to make these things interesting, have a little something visual for the visual learners, and the auditory learners, and i-it’s just the interruptions —”

“Oh, IYS,” Parker says, and turns to Nate all happy-like. “Your old insurance company holds the policy on Foss’ horses.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” Sophie asks. Her gentle and concerned is making an appearance, here, but it doesn’t make it any less chiding.

“No,” Nate says, soft with threat. “If I can find a way to stick it to my old bosses, so much the better.” Which is what Hardison’s concerned with, to be honest, but he really doesn’t want to unleash that particular explosion of fury right now.

“ _Our mission_ ,” he says instead, interrupting the moment with all the force he can bring to bear, “Is to take Foss’ last surviving horse and give it to Eliot’s friend Willie.” Eliot doesn’t so much as bat an eye at that description. “Meet Baltimore,” Hardison says, changing slides again, “Three wins, two places, insured for 200 thousand dollars. Thank you very much, that concludes this briefing. Thank you all for your kind attention.” He leans forward, getting into everyone’s space a little across the hotel room’s too-small table. “Now how do we get the damn horse?”

Without going from a team to a time-bomb, ideally.


	3. Poker Face

The Kensington Racetrack bar is just the right amount of crowded. Not so crowded that it’s hard to move, but crowded enough that she doesn’t stand out. Sophie said that the striped dress and the tight ponytail made her look like someone’s assistant, which was the next best thing to a waitress. All the servers here were behind bars. Which was not useful. 

Sophie has the mark up against the bar, watching her like she’s going to make him rich. Parker only spots the lift because she’s looking for it, but she does spot it. So picking up the wallet from Sophie’s fingers is easy.

Parker takes it off a little way and swipes the card through her reader. it’s a little bulkier than her usual model, but Hardison says this one is harder to hack and has a better transmitter.

“He’s got a 50 thousand limit,” Hardison says. Parker looks back at Sophie and the mark. He’s still distracted, so she unfolds the betting slip.

“He bet on Kentucky Thunder,” she says. That’s what they needed to know, so she walks over to pass by the mark as Sophie leads him out the door, and drops his wallet in his pocket. It only rankles a little. Petty change for pretty money, that’s the exchange. It’s a good one.

***

Sophie’s arrival with the mark interrupts the lovely conversation Eliot was having with Mary Kareen about the relative merits of the local restaurants. She falls silent when Foss comes in, and the way she tenses is worrying. Foss must have a reputation here already. The stain in her aura doesn’t seem to be a serious injury, but Eliot makes a note to keep Foss’s attention off her. She deserve not to get hurt by this sudden invasion of her back room, however well intentioned.

Sophie introduces Hardison, who looks cooler than he feels. The flicking poker chip is a nice touch, though. Not flashy, but noticeable. The sort of subtle confidence it suggests is something to fear in a poker player.

“And this here’s Brad Mackie,” Sophie says, so Eliot gets up enough to shake Foss’s hand with a meaningless smile, “One of the best trainers in town.”

“Oh, Miss Kitty,” Eliot says, waving off the compliment.

“Oh, really, really?” Ross says, making Eliot bristle at his smugness, “Well, why doesn’t he work for me, then?” Eliot’s opening his mouth to answer, but Nate interrupts by opening the door.

“Cause I work for him,” Eliot says, and lets Nate’s character speak for the rest of it.

Nate plays a _damn_ good ass. And not just cause he is one.

***

Naturally, _naturally_ the mark pulls out an unopened deck which won’t work for plan A. Bicycles is a good brand, thick cards that the system can’t read through. Nate mocks Foss about how much of a rookie move pulling a fresh deck is, and Mary Kareen deals. It’s four against one, they might not even need to cheat.

Hardison and Sophie drop out eventually, which was pretty much the plan. (Hardison is _damn_ sure Sophie’s throwing’s the game.) He’s still a little insulted by how early he has to. He thought he was better at poker than this. It _does_ give him time to practice passing cards between Eliot and Nate, though.

And, hell, they’ve got Foss down to having to throw in something extra. (Hardison is fucking _impressed_ by a forty thousand dollar watch. It's kind of tacky, though.)

“We play for cash,” Nate says, “Or we play for horses.” Hardison watches Foss warily. He doesn’t seem suspicious. “Now, you’ve still got one of those left, don’t you? Or did you lose that one, too?” Foss’s aura floods with how much he hates Nate right now, and he isn’t thinking straight enough to even wonder if it’s a trap.

“Cute,” he says, “All right. I’m going to put in my last horse, Baltimore." He scribbles on a napkin. “Witness it,” Foss says, handing the napkin and the pen over to Sophie. Sophie does, raising her eyebrows in very subtle mock surprise. Nice. “Thanks, darling,” Foss says, and Hardison _hates_ him. White alpha males playing dominance games, not caring who gets thrown under the bus by their antics — He cuts the thought off before it reaches his face, and passes the jack Eliot gave him on to Nate.

Four jacks and a king. If Nate needs to show a hand that high. Foss has four nines. Nate shows him the jacks. Hardison tunes out the resulting shouting and focuses on his breathing until Foss leaves.

Eliot takes the napkin and shakes hands with Nate, and Hardison makes sure Mary Kareen gets her cut, and they all leave that hell-hole. Even the parking lot feels safe after _that_ affect.


	4. In Which neither Nate nor Sophie is a Viewpoint Character

"Dammit, Hardison," Eliot snarls, and throws a pillow at the damn hacker. "It's midnight, shut the fuck up."

"Sorry," Hardison mutters, reaching for his empty soda bottle without even reacting to the pillow. Eliot gets up and glares over Hardison's shoulder at his screen. There are words. He’s pretty sure about that. 

“What?” Eliot demands.

“We have a problem,” Hardison says, “Look at this.” Eliot looks at it. 

“Guide and Sentinel Secular Association,” he says in puzzlement. “What’s that?” 

“It’s the SGC’s new name,” Hardison says, “The important bit is down here, ‘People in the Kensington area’.”

“Sentinel Stephen Miles,” Eliot reads. “That a problem?”

“A bit,” Hardison says, “He’s a dick, but the real problem is that he spotted Sophie. And he told Imani Freeman.”

“That’s the one who’s chasing Sophie about the Dubenich job, right?” Eliot asks, “Can’t you make sure she doesn’t get here the way you did in Florida?”

“And in that tinker-toy town,” Hardison adds, “No, she caught on to that. She’s driving.”

“Damn,” Eliot mutters, and they both look up sharply at the knock on the door. Eliot looks through the peephole, carefully. It’s Parker.

 

***

 

Eliot lets her in. He smells tired and sweaty. Hardison’s even tireder. Parker goes and perches on Eliot’s unmade bed. Eliot grumbles about that, but he just sits down next to her. 

“He wasn’t saying anything,” Parker says. She turns toward Eliot so he knows who she’s talking to.

“What?” Eliot says, scrunching his forehead.

“When you told Hardison to shut up, he wasn’t saying anything.” Parker’s very sure of that. She was listening. She doesn’t sleep well in hotel rooms, and Sophie hadn’t let her hide in the ducts. Hardison raises his eyebrows, and Eliot scrunches down into himself and crosses his arms.

“He was moving loudly,” Eliot grumbles. Hardison sputters entertainingly, but Parker’s distracted from that by the sound of the elevator. Its rumbling upward motion fills her ears and covers all other sensations. 

 

***

 

Hardison stops speaking mid-complaint. Eliot cocks his head at him, but Parker doesn’t so much as twitch. Hardison looks at her, then back at Eliot. Eliot follows his eyes and considers Parker seriously.

“Zone-out,” he announces. Hardison blinks. 

“Aw, fuck,” he says. “She’s so good I’d kind of forgotten the dangers. Do you wanna or should I?”

Eliot raises his eyebrows at him. “Get over here; it’s faster with two.” He puts a very careful hand on Parker’s arm and squeezes. Hardison gets up and sits on the other side of her. He considers tickling her, but probably that’s only safe to do with his foster-sister. Instead, he rests his hand on Parker’s shoulder and presses down. 

“I hope to hell touch or hearing are gonna work,” he says to Eliot, “Smell is a little harder, and I do _not_ want to try taste.”

Eliot waves a hand in front of Parker’s open eyes. “You need to go the fuck to sleep.”

“I was just thinking she must’ve zoned on sight!” Hardison probably does need sleep, though. He reaches up and ruffles Parker’s hair, and ends up on the floor, banging his head. “Ow.”

Eliot, damn him, got out of the way of Parker’s recovery without difficulty, and chuckles. He stretches a hand down to Hardison to help him up. Hardison sputters in frustration and tries to get up without taking it. It must take him too long for Eliot’s liking because Eliot just grabs and pulls him upright. Parker laughs. Which means she’s out of the zone, but _ow_.

‘How long was I out?” Parker asks. Hardison checks his watch, but Eliot beats him to the punch.

“Between one and two minutes,” he says.

“Yeah,” Hardison says, and glares at Eliot, “Ninety-three seconds exactly.” Parker makes a face, and hunches down on Eliot’s bed. 

 

***

 

This is why she likes vents. Nobody notices if she gets distracted in vents. She probably needs to do _the thing_ again. She really hates _the thing._ But it has been almost a year. 

“Blegh,” Parker says. “Oh! I remember. Nate and Sophie are coming up in the elevator.” She doesn’t unhunch or send out her ears again. Everything is too much already. 

“Huh,” Eliot says, and goes over to open the door. Parker doesn’t listen. 

“Can I rub your back?” Hardison asks. Parker looks up at him with one eye. The books say that might help. Parker nods. Hardison presses down firmly with his hand between her shoulder blades and moves it in little circles. 

It doesn’t make anything worse, anyway. 

Eliot comes back. “Nate and Sophie want to talk tomorrow, after we’ve gotten some sleep.” Parker looks up. He’s glaring at Hardison. Eliot is always glaring at Hardison. “They were pretty shook about something.” Parker sticks her face back between her knees. Eliot sighs. “I’ll put some blankets on the floor and steal Hardison’s pillows.” Hardison says “Oy!” but Eliot ignores him. “You get some sleep. Things’ll be less loud in the morning.” Parker starts to unfold herself to sleep on the blankets, but Eliot glares at her. “You. Sleep.” He turns to Hardison next. “You too.” He grumbles as he spreads his blankets along the floor and settles down. Parker and Hardison look at each other. Hardison shrugs and goes to bed. Parker lies down and watches him until her eyes close.


	5. And... Sterling

Nate and Sophie are tenser than they appear, spreading stains of stress across the affect to Hardison’s woefully insufficient shields. Seriously, Eliot needs to teach that boy some technique. Parker is on the way to freaking out already, open as she is. 

“Is it true that Sterling spent three days in the trunk of a car waiting to catch someone?” Parker asks with … more than casual interest. 

“No, no,” Nate says, perhaps trying for soothing, but Sophie cuts him off.

“It was five.”

“What?” Even Parker, whose grasp of what the human body can normally do is a little shaky, doesn’t want to believe that. According to Eliot’s calculations, it is just barely possible, but Sterling would have come out of it with notable dehydration and a bladder infection. Unless it had already been a particularly nasty-smelling car.

“Look, I’m not saying he’s better than you were—” Nate talks over Sophie. “Were?” She’s not normally sloppy enough to piss Nate off even half by accident. Sterling is having quite the effect on her. Maybe they’ve met. “We need to get Willie that horse back and get out of here very, very quickly,” Sophie goes on, ignoring Nate. Hardison has _finally_ pulled back within an extra layer of shielding, and is watching the two of them with only slightly faked cool. 

“It’s a little too late for that,” Nate says, stirring his drink and staring across the racecourse. It had better _not_ be. “I mean, Sterling thinks I’m trying to get my job back, right? He doesn’t care about the claim anymore, he’s just gonna mess with everything I try to do.” Fuck Nate and his old ‘friends’. “If I try to keep Baltimore for myself, he’s gonna try to get Baltimore back for Foss. If I give Willie the horse, Willie becomes the target. And trust me,” Nate waves his drink again, “You do not want to be a target of Sterling.”

 

***

 

Hardison feels blind behind his shields. It’s an annoying choice, blind or drowning. But Sophie and Nate’s nervousness was bad enough, and Eliot’s been tense, vibrating with frustration. It’s only gotten worse through Nate’s little speech.

“So, wait, wait, Willie loses the horse and Foss stays in business,” Eliot says, “Nice.” That is some nice, thick sarcasm there on that last word. 

“No, no,” Nate says, waving a calming hand not very calmingly. “I think I know a way we can tackle both. I think.” _So_ reassuring. “Sophie, try to get Foss here.” Sophie nods. Okay, that makes sense. “You guys keep a tab on Sterling,” Nate says to Hardison and Parker, “Run interference. Eliot, get us a stable.” 

Yay! Stakeout. Bleh. At least Parker is coming along.

 

***

“Where is he?” They’ve been waiting a while, now. This is the parking lot he’s got to use if he’s coming to work, though, and Sterling likes work. Like Parker likes work, but creepy.

“Incoming,” Hardison says, leaning back over the shoulder of the seat. Parker goes to the back of the van and watches. The tinted windows make everything a funny color, but Parker can see through it. Yes. Parker knows that smug creepy face.

“And, Sterling,” she says. Sterling parks and turns off the car as Hardison fumbles his way over to join Parker. He’d be quieter if he didn’t bring his computer.

“Electronic locks, electronic throttle, power steering, keyless entry,” Hardison looks at her, eyes crinkling happy. “You know what runs all that?”

Parker knows what makes Hardison happy. “Computers?” Hardison grins, and Parker grins back. Hardison can do all sorts of nasty things with computers.

“Nate says distracting,” Hardison mutters, and Sterling’s car makes all sorts of noises all at once. Parker giggles. Sterling flails around and bangs on his car to make it better. 

Then he turns and looks behind him, right into the van. When he turns back he rustles, and then calls someone on the phone. 

“Hello? Police?” Sterling says. “I’m at the racetrack. I just passed a black van, and I can’t be sure, but I think I heard screaming inside! And there was blood, like, all over the doors!” Parker looks at Hardison. This is bad. “Yeah, sure,” Sterling says, “They might’ve had guns.” Waaaaaait. Parker did not hear anyone say anything on the other end of the line… She puts a hand on Hardison to make him not do anything and listens really hard. “A black van,” Sterling says. “Sure, yeah, I’ll hold.” But he clicks his phone closed anyway. 

“He didn’t call anyone,” Parker hisses. Hardison nods slowly. Sterling turns around and wiggles his fingers at them. Parker jolts back. Ick! “He’s like Nate,” she says, “Evil Nate.”

“Flee now, talk later,” Hardison says, and heads back to the front of the van. 

“He didn’t call anyone,” Parker says. You go when you get made, she knows that, but why did he pretend to call the police and not actually do it?

“Wanted us to know he knew we were there and that he could call the cops on us without having to deal with the actual cops,” Hardison says, “Being interrogated keeps you busy.” Okay. 

“So he isn’t busy and we aren’t watching him,” Parker says. “This is bad.” 

“I got a trail on the car,” Hardison says, “And maybe on his phone, but yes. This is bad.”


	6. Legal Little Copy

This is a nice stable. Lively. But there isn’t a person who works with horses who ain’t pissed with Foss, so that oughta be okay.

Eliot walks with Aimee and Nate and keeps very carefully shielded. There’s a reason he didn’t keep in touch after Aimee got married.

“Trainers work with a lot of different owners,” Aimee tells Nate, “So only some of these will be yours. But stables belong to the trainers, not the owners, so _his_ office would be down here.” Well, fuck, that is enough.

“You can’t even say my name now,” Eliot tries to keep cool. She’s got reason, but damn it.

“No, sirree,” Aimee says, and her body language is admirably calm. Nate makes a thinking noise, and cuts in. 

“Uh, and the logos?” 

“Well, like she said, my stable.” Two can play the nameless game. “These stables are all identical. The only way to tell them apart is by the logos. So Hardison faked up a couple of them this morning.” They’re actually kind of like what Eliot would have chosen for himself. Kid has decent taste on occasion. 

“Anything else you need so you can wrap this up and go back to being a somewhat disappointing memory?” Aimee is _pissed._ Eliot’s never needed the fucking Guide-gift to recognize that. 

“I thought you said you were fine with this,” Eliot says, leaning in toward her. 

“I thought you said you’d be back in three weeks,” Aimee says, not looking at him.

“Oh, this is perfect,” Nate says, and walks away. He can do that, this isn’t his history. Not someone he used to love. 

“I came back as soon as I could,” Eliot says, which is true, and walks down to talk to that little pinto he saw coming in. Aimee doesn’t follow him. 

Maybe that’s a good thing. But probably not.

 

***

 

“Aw, fuck,” Hardison breathes, quiet like he isn’t thinking about it, not quiet like he doesn’t want her to hear. Parker twists around to look at his screen. 

“More Sterling?” She asks. 

“Ah, no,” Hardison says, not looking up, “Well, yes, but no, it’s Imani Freedman. She’ll be here inside of twelve hours.”

“That’s that Sentinel,” Parker says, “The one that wants Sophie.”

“Yep,” Hardison says, “And if she finds Sophie, she’ll find us.” 

“I don’t want her to find us!” Parker grabs Hardison’s shoulder, “She’ll tell the Center!”

“Now, for me, that’s not a problem unless I’m in front of Sterling or Foss,” Hardison says, adding his name to the list of people on the screen. The ones ‘in the Kensington area’. “Because I am in there, all legal. My Nana insisted. Took me right in as soon as she realized it wasn’t my ears hearing her upset.” He leaves that page and pulls up a form with a space for a picture. Underneath it says ‘Alice White, Sentinel.’ “Now, the best way not to bother someone who depends on the system,”Hardison says, and starts filling in blanks, “Is to be in the system.” He glances over his shoulder. “How do you feel about being Alice White?”

 

***

 

Parker’s easy. He just makes Alice White a legal little copy of Parker. Puts in “Undiagnosed Autism?” in the “Observer’s Notes” section, signing it “Lily Simmons”, because Lily Simmons _would_ think that if she saw Parker, and it gives Alice White an excuse for being a little peculiar. And Lilly Simmons never remembers who she thought might be autistic. 

“Should I pretend to be Autistic?” Parker asks over his shoulder.

“Nah,” Hardison says, “Lily Simmons thinks everyone who doesn’t do just what she expects is Autistic. Except like two people who actually are Autistic.”

“Oh,” Parker says. “What if I am Autistic?” 

“Uh,” Hardison says, “Then Lily Simmons would accidentally be right?”

“Silly Lily,” Parker says, and giggles. “What about Eliot?”

“Lily Simmons would be confused by Eliot.” Hardison says, “And right now I am having a slight problem. Because Eliot is not _in_ the system.”

“So make him someone in the system,” Parker says, which is perfectly sensible, except—

“Willie and Aimee — Willie’s daughter, you know? Got us the stable.” Parker nods. 

“I think Eliot used to be in love with her,” she adds. Hardison nods right back at her. 

“Mighta been both ways. Anyway, they know he’s Eliot. And Freedman is a Truth Specialist, so she would know if they were lying.” Hardison rubs his chin. “Gonna have to talk to him about that one.”

“Not in front of Nate,” Parker says, which, with their earbuds out, they can.

“No,” Hardison agrees, “Not in front of Nate.” 


	7. Not Tomorrow, Today

“You,” Nate says, barging into Eliot’s office with Foss in tow, “You there, I don’t remember your name,” which is going a bit far, “But I need your office.” Eliot gets up, starting a protest, which Nate waves off. “Today,” Nate says, “Not - not tomorrow, today.” Eliot goes out and leans on the hallway wall opposite the door. It’s not a great moment to be alone with his thoughts. They are all full of Aimee, and where he was when he wasn’t with Aimee, and none of that is pleasant to remember. So Eliot thinks about Parker’s eating habits, and how a Sentinel eating like that should be getting sick, and how he can make food with no artificial this and non-food chemical that to appeal to that taste. 

Sophie goes in. Eliot lowers one careful level of shielding and watches the affect in his office shift. Foss is getting offended, right, proper, and as intended. When Nate walks out, dragging Sophie behind him, Eliot pushes off the wall and heads back in. 

Foss nods at him and makes this tiny, false, frustrated smile. Eliot has to chuckle. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I’ve just seen that look before. That’s a Bob Gibson special.”

“What, are you serious?” Foss snarls. Eliot blinks, and slams more shields up. That is some raw fury, right there. And Eliot’s been letting himself relax, off the battlefield. Mistake. “How do you even put up with that?”

“He’s, he’s a little worse this week, cause he’s got this deal,” Eliot says, and shifts, embarrassed. “And, he, uh.” Eliot visibly cuts himself off. “Anyway, I’m sorry he didn’t sell you your horse back.”

“So what’s this deal with Kitty?” Foss is going predatory. Wall street. 

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that one, Mr. Foss,” Eliot says with a little apologetic shrug. 

“See, this industry is changing,” Foss says, as if he’s talking to himself, bubbling fury. “Yep. Wasting my time with that penny-ante crap. Cheap horses, low rent trainers,” Eliot feels some fury himself at that. The _hell_ Willie is. When you buy a man with his dream, of course he’ll lower the price in money. 

“Well, you know what I did, though.” Eliot blinks. There’s pride and smugness rising through the anger now. “I called my hedge-fund buddies up, and we’re going to form investment portfolios, only with horses, instead of stocks.” Horses instead of stocks? Eliot goes cold. That is the kind of thinking that kills horses. Burns them, drives them to their deaths — horses are not stocks. 

“So guys like Gibson won’t know what hit them when _New York_ money comes to town.” Foss is getting onto his game now, driving. Violent hand gestures. “So you do _me_ a favor, here’s how I can help _you._ ” Eliot’s gotten good enough that his wince there is hardly perceptible. “You either join the revolution,” Foss says, shoving his card into Eliot’s hand, “Or you get out of my way.” 

He storms out. 

In the silence of the suddenly empty room, Eliot takes a deep breath. “We have a problem.”


End file.
